


Once Upon a Time in Mos Eisley

by Lasgalendil



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Yoda Acquisition, Episode: s01ep05 The Gunslinger, Gen, Have a nice day, Hostage Situations, I can handle it, I'm a damsel, I'm in distress, Lesbians in Space, Mando's well-meaning if questionable parenting skills, POV Outsider, POV Peli Motto, Peli Motto's babysitting service, Sass, Space Dad Mandalorian, The mandadlorian, lesbian gramma Peli Motto, queer icon Peli Motto, space gramma, the mandalorian season 1 compliant, unintentional child abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil
Summary: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away a grizzled old mechanic became a baby sitter.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Peli Motto, Peli Motto & Toro Calican, Peli Motto & droids, The Mandalorian & Toro Calican, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Peli Motto
Comments: 49
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Robert Rodriguez's Once Upon a Time in Mexico.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mandalorian lands in Mos Eisley.
> 
> ...Peli Motto is unimpressed.

Peli Motto was getting too old for this shit.

The ship landed, looking beat to hell. It was ancient, pre-Empire, even. Outdated model—so either the son of a bitch could only afford something any self-respecting Jawa would scrap, or he needed to keep a low profile. Either way, it’d be more trouble than it was worth. She’d survived years of smugglers, syndicates, scrapped and supplied for both the Rebels and the Empire, whatever kept water in her well and food on her table. At this point she’d recognize scorch marks from a dogfight in her sleep.

She had a full mind to tell this nerf’s nutsack to beat it when the hatch lowered, but she knew good steel when she saw it. _Beskar._ She held her tongue.

A Mandalorian, then. Trustworthy, if dangerous. Perhaps, she thought, she’d been wrong. Perhaps payment wouldn’t be an issue…

Then the absolute asshole shot up her droids.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mandalorian got in a dogfight.
> 
> ...Peli Motto is still unimpressed.

The DUM series were, she’d be the first to admit, an outdated model with subpar programming, prone to gambling, bickering, and startling like a herd of frightened rontos. But they were _her_ droids, damnit. She’d saved and scraped up years to afford such a luxury.

“Hey! HEY!” She scrambled up and marched out into the hangar as they scattered for cover. “You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it.”

He seemed satisfied, and holstered his weapon, the son of a bitch. “Just keep them away from my ship.”

“Yeah?” She challenged, gesturing to the still-smoking hull with her clip board. “You think that’s a good idea, do ya? Let’s look at your ship.” She knocked against the plating of the hull. “Oof. Look at that.” The hull sounded solid, no structural weakness or warping, but the metal was scoured by burnt fuel and blaster marks alike. “Ugh, you got a lot of carbon scorin’ building up on top. Yeah, if I didn’t know better—“ she said in a tone to let him very well know that she _did_, “I’d think you were in a shootout.”

The Mandalorian was silent.

“Need a special tool for that one. Oh yeah, gonna have to rotate that,” she commented, tugging and tsking at random. It was code, of course. Compensation for her silence. Gone were the outlaw days of the Hutts, perhaps, but blackmail and bribery were still the main currency of Mos Eisley.

And well, would ya look at that. “You got a fuel leak,” she whistled. “Look at this, this is a mess. How did you even land?” She turned back to him. “That’s gonna set you back.”

The Mandalorian wasn't impressed with her theatrics, but he didn’t argue. He’d been desperate enough to wash up on one of the desert, outermost planets of the Outer Rim in an Old Republic Razor Crest. This ship wasn’t flying anytime soon, and the bastard wasn’t in a position to barter.

“I’ve got 500 Imperial credits.”

Imperial credits. The Stormtrooper heads impaled in the plaza would teach him better than that. Luke Skywalker’s home planet, imperial credits! This bantha’s backside. “That all you got?” she swiped them from his gloved hand. “Well, what do you guys think?” The pit crew beeped and whirred their disapproval, but they wouldn’t be the ones working, so fuck ‘em.

She turned back to the Mandalorian with a swagger, eyed that Beskar armor up and down like she were thirty years younger and it were a dancer at the cantina. “That should at least cover the hangar.”

“I’ll get you your money.” Wasn’t that a world-weary sigh. She was unimpressed. Plenty of folks had come through bay 35 hoping to swindle some free or reduced work out of her. Pulling her heart strings, feeding her sob stories all on account she’d been born a woman, must be a mother herself. Peli Motto had never once been cheated, but once upon a time she’d traded her fair share of repairs for sunsets and sunrises with beautiful young pilots and haggling traders’ wives when she’d been young, if not so beautiful, herself. Back in the days before the Republic Fell, before the shadow of Empire, before this new Young Republic and the whispers of a First Order. Before time had turned her old and grey, and she’d had to hire on a crew of DUM series droids to keep up with her slowing body and aching bones.

“Hmm.” Peli snorted. “Heard that before.”

“Just remember—“

“Yeah. No droids,” she scoffed. “I heard you. You don’t have to say it twice.”

And off he went, without so much as a thank you in return. “_Shebse_,” she said under her breath. If the Mandalorian heard the insult, he ignored it.

She waited a moment, then--

“Womp rat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shebs  
This was a Mandalorian swear word was originally user to indicate the back or rear side of a building, but came to refer to the buttocks. (RCHC, OWS)
> 
> Shebse  
This was the plural form of the Mando'a word shebs. (RCTZ)
> 
> per http://mrklingo.freeshell.org/cuswe/encyc-s.htm


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mandalorian doesn't secure his bounty.
> 
> ...Peli Motto doesn't get paid enough for this shit.

Peli Motto once had the misfortune to meet Han Solo. The Millennium Falcon might be a name of legend now, but when Peli worked on her it’d been for a scruffy smuggler known less for the kessel run and more for dumping cargo at the first sight of an Imperial cruiser. She’d made him pay up front and double—his boyish charm couldn’t sway her, and that wookie didn’t scare her.

Peli wasn’t lifting a finger on the Razor Crest repairs until she was sure of the money. If the Mandalorian wanted her to move on it, he’d show her proof—if not of payment, at least a puck.

Those damn useless droids—her damn useless droids—found themselves with free time, and had immediately started (yet another) game of Sabacc. The three of them were worse than Jawas, scavenging every part they could find to hoard for the pot. What the hell, Peli thought. She was old, she was tired, and she needed that socket wrench back. She took a seat around the tire table and they dealt her in. She looked at her hand, counted the cards in her head. “Alright, I’m in,” she decided. “And I’m going to raise you three bolts, and a motivator.”

Behind them, the hatch lowered with an awful screech. The thing needed oil, she noted absently, and she’d add it to the Mandalorian’s tab. Then the thought struck--the hatch had already been down. That was a wail! There was something alive, something _moving_ in the hold. That bastard didn’t have his bounty in carbonite!

Shit shit shit shit. She had more to lose to this desperate ruffian attempting escape than the Mandalorian. “Shh!” she ordered, standing in front of the skittering droids. “Get my blaster rifle.”

“I’d stay in that ship if I were you!” She warned.

Rifle in her hands she felt fearless. Enraged. Her hangar. Her droids. She’d worked a life time to eke this home out for herself—she’d be damned if she let some asshole bail jumper take either from her.

She waited, crouched, ready to fire. Then—

Then something small and sad trundled down the gangway. She blinked. Looked to the pit crew. “Wha—“

It looked her in the eyes. Sighed. Held its tiny arms out.

She’d never been a mother herself, but she recognized that gesture: UP.

…this wasn’t an escaping bounty, this was a _child_.

That absolute idiot, Peli thought, handing the rifle to the nearest droid. Fragging bantha’s backside! Traipsing around the galaxy, getting in dog fights with a young one on board! Leaving it unsupervised! She’d been right—this job was more trouble than what it’d be worth.

“Now, now.” She bent to pick it up, holding it out at an awkward arms’ length. She’d never been one to mother. “Let Peli take a good look at you.”

Ears like a fathier. Large black eyes. Three-fingered little hands. She’d no idea what the hell it was. “All right, there you go,” she pulled it close and shrugged to the droids, as baffled as they were. “Did that bounty hunter leave you all alone on that big nasty ship?”

The droids chittered.

“Oh how do I know what it is? Give me a second!”

A plan had begun to form in her mind. She couldn’t very well leave it alone now that she’d seen it, could she? And the Mandalorian couldn’t argue about payment, because watching after a little one hadn’t been a part of their arrangement. Well. It wasn’t Sabacc but it was something to with her time, and Peli Motto had never half-assed anything in her whole life. “Alright,” she turned a bright face back to the little one. It wasn’t its fault its father was a kriffing clueless bastard bounty hunter in a beat up ship. “Would you like some food?” She cooed. “Are you hungry?”

It gave a chirp of interest.

“Fetch it something to eat. Quick!” she barked.

The droids warbled, uncertain.

“I don’t know—something with bones in it.” She insisted, not knowing where the words came from. _Bones. Bones. Bones._ It was as if she could hear its thoughts. She said hungry. Food. And the baby answered—which was ridiculous, of course. She’d been a mechanic for half a century now, inhaled too many fumes.

“Shh, shh,” she shushed. “Now here’s the plan,” she told it. “I am going to look after you until the Mandalorian gets back. And then I’m going to charge him extra for watching you. You see how that works, hmm, Bright Eyes?” She scritched its head and chin as it blinked up at her. “We’re a team.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mandalorian abandons a child.
> 
> ...Peli Motto is going to kick his ass.

She sent the droids to market to fetch the food. A father so paranoid about his ship must feel even stronger about his child. No droids! She’d charge him twice as much for making her bust her ass on the repairs by herself, let alone watching the little one.

But it couldn’t be helped. She’d have to watch it, figure out how to feed it on her own. She’d never seen or heard of anything like it, and didn’t know what exactly it ate, but a plate of gorg, ibian, and profogg ought to do it.

It’s eyes went wide at the sight of the food, and it fell into it face first like a starved dewback. “Not so fast!” Peli cried, and pulled it back. “You’ll choke yourself.”

It cried out, made grabby hands for the gorg it’d tried to swallow whole.

“Here.” She bounced and burped it against her body between slow, measured bites. “Still hungry, hmm? You want some more?” It ate _everything_. She’d have to send the droids out again if that bastard didn’t get back soon.

But the baby was content, and quiet, so she might as well try to get it to sleep. “Will you sleep, hmm? Take a nap? Are you tired?” Peli rocked it, and chucked its chin. “Sleepy, yeah? Close your big bright eyes?” She blinked twice, very slow, to show it how.

It blinked back at her. Babbled, and grabbed for her hair.

So much for that. “Not sleepy, then. Well, let’s get to work.”

She couldn’t put the little one down for an instant—it immediately reached for anything small or shiny in sight, and would put anything it found straight into its mouth. Her hangar full of metal and sparks and fuel fumes was no place for a child, but working one-handed would get her nowhere. She dug out an old engine strut, cleared the floor, laid a clean work mat on the ground and wrapped another around the metal to set up a nice little padded enclosure. It was content to watch her, blinking and babbling as she narrated the repair. “When your father comes back,” Peli sang as she replaced the fuel lines, “I’m going to kick his armored ass. Yes, I am.”

It cooed.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian returns.
> 
> …Peli Motto gives him a piece of her mind.

“HEY!”

Peli jerked awake. “I’m awake! I’m awake!” The baby startled in her arms. Began to cry.

“Where is he!” the Mandalorian shouted.

“Quiet!” The noise and anger had frightened the baby. “Oh, Shh, shh, it’s okay.” She soothed. “You woke it up!” she groaned, cradling the little thing as it wailed. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?”

The Mandalorian descended on her. Beskar. Blaster. Pulse Rifle. Peli was unswayed. She’d met and survived plenty of dangerous men, and in her sixty-some years she’d seen her fair share of new fathers scared shitless. She’d outlived the Empire, the Hutts, had beaten back Jawas and Tusken raiders alike. This bounty hunter afraid for his baby didn’t frighten her.

“Give him to me.” He demanded. Moved to take it.

“Not so fast!” Peli protested, angling her body away to shield the baby. She’d prepared a whole litany against him, but what came out of her mouth was an irate an unbelieving “You can’t just leave a child all alone like that!”

He stared.

The baby blinked up at them. Smiled. Peli grimaced back reassuringly, swung it a little, back and forth. It wasn’t its fault its father was kriffing clueless. The Mandalorian looked between her and the little one, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. His hand fell from the butt of his blaster.

“You lose your woman?” Peli asked. “Or you leave her behind?” There was nothing about her soft, sand-filled hair included, but she could be, on rare occasion, less gruff. The Hutts had ruled the Outer Rim with a reputation for violence and vengeance. There’d been a war on. They’d all lost someone—her included.

“It’s just us.”

“It have a name?”

“No.”

”You know, you have an awful lot to learn about raisin’ a young one!” No name! Left in the ship all alone! And hungry! When was the last time this baby slept in a real bed? Had a decent meal? Had a chance to stretch its legs? This absolute mudrucker!

He didn’t argue, and his shamed silence told her she hadn’t said anything he wasn’t already aware. Peli still had half a mind to shout at him, all her favorite insults on the tip of her tongue but the baby cooed up at her, confused. She took a deep breath, calmed herself for its sake. Those happy sounds, reaching hands and big bright eyes. They were bonded, that much was clear. The Mandalorian with his silence and collected presence turned to menacing desperation for the sake of the child.

Whatever had a Mandalorian on the Outer Rim, alone, in a beat up ship so old it didn’t even register with the New Republic scanners and with a baby in tow, besides…it must be kriffing bad. And none, she harrumphed to herself, of Peli Motto’s business.

(Aside from her repairs and blackmail being the reason he’d left it alone to go find work in the first place.)

…Damnit. Adorable little one or no, Peli Motto was getting _paid_.

“Anyway,” she punched buttons on the circuit panel for want of something to do with her frustration. “I started the repair on the fuel leak. Had a couple setbacks I want to talk to you about. You know I didn’t use any droids, as requested, so it took me a lot longer than I expected. I figured you were good for the money,” Peli hiked the little one up over one hip, smirking between them. “Since you’ve got an extra mouth to feed.”

I’ve got you by the balls and you _owe_ me, you son of a bitch, she didn’t have to say.

Again the Mandalorian didn’t argue. He said, “Thank you.”

_Well. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian gets a co-worker.  
…Peli Motto is underwhelmed.

The Mandalorian had packed. Strode purposefully out of the hangar. Peli followed him, still making her pitch.

“Oh! Oh, guess I was right, you got a job, didn’t you?” The bastard didn’t give her some much as a glance. Even the pit droids were more sociable than this one! “You know, it’s costing me a lot of money to even keep these droids even powered up.”

Huh. No rise, then.

They stepped out into the light of Tattoine’s suns. Peli shielded her face. Two speeder bikes. And—

“Hey, Mando. What do you think?”

—and some Middle Rim wanna be Han Solo-looking mudrucker with a piercing. That didn’t bode well. The Mandalorian’s seedy associate, whoever he was, looked greener than the baby.

“Not too shabby, huh?”

The Mandalorian tested the outrigger of the nearest. Looked to her.

Well. _That_ was different.

It was a stripped Mobquet Zephyr-J. A dated but trusted model. They were dulled from sand and sun, but fully fueled, with nav system and comm links intact. The structure looked sound. She shrugged.

“What’d you expect,” the guy said. “This ain’t Corelia. Ma’am,” he nodded to her, polite enough. He gave a brief, dismissive look at the kid. The baby only gurgled.

They struck off, not a backward glance between them. “He’d better know what he’s doing.” Peli grumbled, more to herself than to the kid. She was a mechanic, for frack’s sake! She was single, old, and if not happily married to her work than at least obligated to it, had a hangar of her own and three ridiculous droids to keep powered up. She couldn’t afford to become the guardian of a little one, not at this time in her life!

As a Mandalorian he’d a competent warrior, let alone a Mandalorian wearing that much beskar. But Peli knew more than most that luck was a fickle thing. All the skill and prowess in the galaxy couldn’t save you from the bomb or blaster bolt that had your name on it. “Oh, look at me,” she tutted to the little one in her arms as both bikes and their riders disappeared over the horizon. “Now I’m fretting over you both.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian doesn’t get back before bed time.
> 
> …Peli Motto’s a little pissed off about it.

Night fell.

Feeding the little one was easier this time.

Finding a place for it to sleep, however, proved more of a task. She’d set the droids to it, like an imbecile, and by the time she’d gotten it fed (more gorg), and burped, and cleaned (and what a run to the market _that_ had been) many hours later, they were no closer to having something suitable.

“It has to be flat—no a table won’t do what if it falls?” she argued with them. “Don’t you know anything? We can't strap it to a seat it has to sleep on its back _no we can’t just put it on the floor what if it wanders off!_”

Fracking useless, the lot of them!

The baby, meanwhile, had made it clear it was time for bed. It rubbed its eyes, ears drooping. No longer responded to her smiles and baby talk with cooing. Grew restless and withdrawn.

“Shh, shh,” Peli chided. “Are you cranky, huh? You miss your daddy?”

“Where do you sleep, huh?” Peli decided to steal onto the ship after that first hour of inconsolable sobbing. The Mandalorian had to put it to bed _somewhere_, didn’t he? The kid was at least more comfortable on board, its cries turned to hiccoughs. It made distressed little peeping noises. Let out the occasional whimper.

There was a rough metal sleeping cot in the hold. A small blanket discarded. Well. That wouldn’t do. It wasn’t a place of comfort. The crowded alcove felt too much like a cage. She wrapped it up as best she could in that little blanket, its three-fingered hands and toes clinging to her as it protested every jostle. She clamored up the ladder to the cockpit one-handedly, little one against her hip.

“There we go,” Peli narrated, seeing the makeshift crib strapped to one of the passenger seats. Belted in. Secure. Tall enough the little one couldn’t climb out. “Look at that. Guess your daddy’s not so useless after all, hmm?”

It wailed when she set it down.

“Oh, hush,” she told it, and settled into the seat across from it. “Peli’s not going anywhere. I’m going to sit right here.”

It sniffled. Babbled at her. Little arms reaching.

Peli couldn't sing for shit. “You want a story?” she asked instead. Hers weren’t appropriate for a child. And the ones about Luke Skywalker, well. They were all violent. A massacre. A homestead burning. The Hutts’ assassination. A Mandalorian’s death. Best not. “Did I tell you about the time I saw Anakin Skywalker win the Boonta Eve Classic?” she prompted. “Hmm? I was barely older than you. Not by much.” She spoke about a childhood she barely remembered, those early years in Mos Espa. Picking pockets in the grand arena. Seeing a human pod racer for the first time. Something had changed that day with Skywalker’s win, woke an ambition within her. She hadn’t wanted to be a pilot or a pod racer, though—she’d wanted to be in the pit crew. Be a part of the team behind the machines. The rapid assembly, disassembly, repair and modifications that made pod racing the bloody and exciting sport it was. From that day on she’d started taking things apart. Putting them back together. Remaking them.

“This ship was already old then,” Peli knocked against the hull as it flicked its ears fretfully. She’d patched and replaced her fair share of fuel lines for this very model back in the day, Jawas and sand people stealing into the outskirts of Mos Espa and Mos Eisley alike, cutting and siphoning what they needed for their lives out in the waste. There had been Jawas on Tattoine then. A whole crawler full of them. They weren't greatly missed, not by anyone, but they had been steady customers, and she'd traded and scrapped for years with them for parts. “That’s another story,” Peli frowned. “It’s not a good one for a youngling.”

They sat up in the cockpit together all night, and the little one finally began to doze around dawn. Even then it twitched in its sleep. A Mandalorian. With a kriffing baby. Great sagging bantha balls, Peli sighed. What sort of violence had it seen? How much more would it come to know?

It was safe for now, at least. Asleep on its back, wrapped up in that shred of a blanket. Her eyes grew heavy. Her back got sore. The sky above the hangar went from black to grey to pale blue as the twin suns appeared on the horizon. She just about considered sleeping herself when the little one woke from a vicious nightmare with a shriek and a wail. She picked it up and cradled it in the pilot’s seat, knowing it would take it hours to get it back to sleep.

She was cranky and sore as well as old and crochety, now. She was charging the Mandalorian extra for this. What the hell, Peli sighed, and shouted for the droids. She liked her caf as strong as engine oil, anyways.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian returns.
> 
> …or so Peli Motto thinks.

Peli repaired the fuel lines. Climbed up the hull and scrubbed the carbon scouring from the outriggers and engines. The ship still looked like an old piece of shit, she rubbed her shoulders as she put on the last of the polish, but not an old piece of shit that had taken recent blaster fire, so it would do.

She peaked in on the little one in its enclosure, only to find it eating a kreetle.

“Oh, yuck!” Peli gagged, wiping her dirty hands on a shop rag and climbing down. “You spit that out. You spit that out right now or so help me I'll—“

It swallowed. Babbled brightly up at her. Peli sighed.

She had the pit droids run down to the market, bring back steamed profogg. “Are you growing, hmm?” Peli asked, and handed bite sized pieces into its grabby hands as it ate its weight in food. “Are you a growing little thing?”

It gave a loud burp, startling itself, and fell on its rump. The whites of its eyes showed. “That was scary, huh,” Peli picked it up. Burped it for a bit.

“Let’s go check on those fuel lines, hmm?” She asked it. “Make sure they’re working?” She was confident in her repairs, but it couldn’t hurt to idle the engines. Make sure the ship was ready to go. The two of them had been in Mos Eisley for more than a day, now. Whatever they were running from, whatever was chasing them, had a Mandalorian taking odd jobs like some criminal down at the cantina, leaving his child hungry and unattended, well. Peli Motto didn’t need it in her hangar.

She put the little one in its seat. Started up the engines. Idled them. Ran a full systems check. “Well, you’re good to go, sweet thing,” she told it, running the shut down sequence. The Mandalorian would get back, she’d get her money, then they’d get the hell out of her hangar and her life and let her get some kriffing sleep.

She heard a speeder approaching as the ship powered down. Parked outside. Only one, then. Unsurprising. The Mandalorian’s associate had looked inexperienced, and shifty besides. A new father had no business partnering with an off-worlder, let alone Middle Rim novice like that. If she weren’t the reason for it, she’d’ve given that bastard half her mind.

…still might. “Took you long enough,” she called, picking the little one up and climbing down into the hold.

It wasn’t the Mandalorian. And he had his blaster out, pointed at the baby asleep in her arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian isn't coming back.
> 
> ...Peli Motto takes a gamble.

“Hand over the asset.”

She’d been right. The Mandalorian had been running, then. How this steaming sack of bantha shit managed to get the drop on him, she’d never know. “Asset?” she snapped. “It’s a child.”

“I really don’t care what it is,” he said. “That thing's my ticket into the Guild.”

The Guild? But the Mandalorian—it wasn’t his bounty, it was his _child_—

And that’s when Peli Motto realized just how deep into shit she’d gotten, and shut her damn mouth. She’d survived the Empire and the Hutts only to bring the Bondsman’s Guild to her own back door. No wonder the Mandalorian had been so desperate. He’d been running from his own.

The child sensed her confusion, her fear. Wrinkled its forehead. Opened its mouth to cry.

“Now there there, Bright Eyes,” Peli said, smiling down despite her fear and rage. Threatening her, threatening a child, in her own hanger no less! “This is just daddy’s friend, remember? He’s off getting money for grumpy old Peli, don’t you worry.” She lied, and set it down. The betrayal stung. What sort of person gave up a young one to save their own skin? Peli Motto, for a start.

“You hurt that kid I’ll kill you myself.” She kept her voice calm, smiling and nodding to the little one. “Go on. Go say hello.”

He scooped it up, ungently. The blaster was fixed on her now.

“Now what, genius?” Peli asked, as the child looked up at him.

“Now I kill you.” At least the little one’s face was turned away. It'd seen far too much violence in its little life, didn't need another nightmare.

“Oh, and _you_ know how to care for a child?” she argued, still stubbornly trying to see a way out of this. “Your partner sure didn’t. You want in the Guild? You need _it _alive, you need _me_ alive. So shut it.”

He mulled it over, still aiming dead center at her chest. “You want to live, you cooperate.” What was that? That nervous glance towards the door—

“Ah.” Peli snorted. “So he is coming back.” Two idiots in as many days. Wonderful.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian is coming back.
> 
> …Peli Motto makes a plan.

Peli Motto was a survivor.

This wasn’t the first time—wasn’t the tenth time she’d had a blaster to her back. That was life in Mos Eisley during the Hutt’s rule, and even after. Old Republic, Empire, New Republic, the only thing that changed were the outsiders’ uniforms and the faces on their currency. The violence, the unrest, the bribery, the blackmail, they always remained.

Stay alive.

You kept your head. Stayed calm. If you could talk your way out, buy your way out, you did that. If things got bad, you might even fight your way out. She’d eyed every single thing in the Razor Crest’s hold that she could use for a weapon, could count every wrench and drill bit in her jumper. But the bastard had the kid, and he had a blaster, and more weapons holstered besides. He was young, and tall, and hale, and fast, and she was old, now.

Stay. Alive.

She didn’t need to fight him. The Mandalorian was coming back, and he’d be back with a vengeance. She just had to keep her head until then. She’d patched up his ship. Watched his child. But it'd been for money, and she’d made no mistaking it. He didn’t owe her anything. When the Mandalorian returned Peli Motto would be collateral, and she knew it.

…Their captor didn’t. And that was the danger, this asshole using her as a meat shield. The safest place in the hanger wasn’t here in the hold where he’d secured them, armored on three sides with a choke point for an entry-way. No, the safest place from the Mandalorian’s wrath was being the one holding that baby. They were hostages, but the little one was none the wiser. Peli’s ruse had worked, then, perhaps too well. As long as the little one was calm and content, he’d keep a hold of it.

_Sorry, Bright Eyes._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian’s partner holds them hostage.
> 
> …Peli Motto is unimpressed.

Inexperienced fathers on the run but trying their best were one thing.

…then there was this sack of bantha shit.

“Stop it.” Their captor jostled the baby the third time it reached for his earring. “I said stop it!”

It gurgled unhappily, the whites of its eyes showing.

That’s what you get for wearing dangling jewelry around a fracking baby, genius. Let alone to a fight! “What’s wrong with you?” Peli snapped, and its ears turned down. “You can’t just shake a baby!”

It let out a little wail of alarm. Reached again for the shiny trinket.

“Tell it to stop!”

“It’s an infant,” Peli argued.

…And if on cue, the youngling began to screech. _Good work, kiddo_.

“Make it shut up!” The little one was far too valuable for him to kill, but he still might hurt it. She needed a way to get him to hand over the kid without him harming it, or her. Peli cooed at it for a while, offered it her fingers to grab onto, gave it reassuring smiles. It quieted, but didn’t calm down, squirming and fidgeting, making distressed little bleats.

“What’s wrong with it?” he demanded. “What did you do to it?” This mudrucker was in way over his head, and it became more apparent to both of them with each passing moment. It didn’t make her situation any less dangerous—the inexperienced ones, the desperate ones, they were the ones you had to worry about, operating on panic instead of logic or pattern. The Mandalorian had been wearing more beskar than Peli had ever seen, and it marked him as a competent warrior, but he was coming for his child. She cursed to herself, and hoped he’d keep his wits about him.

Peli sniffed. Sensed her opportunity. “I think it needs the vac tube.”

Their captor gaped down at the little one, appalled. “I’m not changing it!”

“Oh, give it here you son of a bitch,” Peli wrestled it from his arms. _Gotcha._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian takes his kriffing time.
> 
> …Peli Motto has it under control.

Like most under the Hutt Syndicate’s rule, Peli Motto had been born a slave. Unlike most, she’d paid off her own bond with skill, luck, and a talent for both fixing (and sabotaging) pod racers. Hers had been a hard life, living hand to mouth, waking both hungry and thirsty then going to bed even hungrier, indentured more often than not. In her sixty-some years Peli would swear she’d seen all and done all and everyone on the planet there was to see or do, and she could lie, cheat, steal, and argue with the best of them. Now it was her life on the line, and she was angling for time.

“I need some supplies,” Peli informed him.

“What?” their captor yelped.

“Diapers. Wipes. Powder. You know,” she repeated, the ‘you ignorant pile of steaming bantha shit’ implied in her tone. “Supplies.”

“You’re not leaving the ship.”

“Then I guess we’ll just stand here all day smelling shit until the Mandalorian gets back. And the little one will cry the whole time,” she elaborated. “It’ll be noisy. And messy. Give you away. And really piss him off.” She shrugged. Bounced the little one against her hip. “If that’s what you want. Or the droids could bring them.”

“What, so they can arm you?” he used one of his lonely brain cells. “I don’t think so.”

“Or maybe you want to go get them? They’re right there.” Peli pointed. To a work bench. In the middle of the hangar. With no cover.

“Can’t you—“ he cast around. “Just take the dirty one off or something?”

“I could. But the next time it goes, it goes all over you.”

He made a face. “One droid.” he decided. “I so much as see a weapon and you’re a dead woman.”

Peli snorted. It was impossible to be intimidated by someone afraid of changing a diaper. This idiot might get her killed, but he sure as shit didn’t scare her. She whistled. “Pit droids!”

They poked their twitching heads around the corner of the workshop bay.

“One of you to bring me the diaper bag.”

They shook their heads. Cowered together. Useless, the lot of them!

“I said bring it. Now!” They beeped their refusal. There was nothing like being made a fool in front of a fool, Peli sighed. “Don’t make me scrap you for parts!”

They bickered amongst themselves. Pushed each other forward. The DUM series weren’t programmed to fight, but to flee and find cover. Coming out into the open like this was against their very nature, but lucky for her so was disobeying a direct order. They settled on a hand game, because of course they did. Left to themselves all they ever did was gamble. The loser grabbed the supplies, whirring its protest the entire time. It skirted skittishly up the gangway and let out a trill of alarm at the sight of the blaster, telescoping down into its protective dome.

“Arm me, huh?” Peli shot their captor a withering glance. But she pulled the canvas close, rolled it out and laid the little one down on the covered floor. She rucked up its robe, and got to business: you’ve seen one cloaca, you’ve seen them all. There were clumps of bone and was that a _kreetle antenna_—_?_ stuck to the fabric of the dirty diaper. “And this is why we take small bites, hmm?” Peli clicked as she cleaned and changed the little one. “And chew?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Oh, and you don’t shit?” Peli shot back, wiping her hands best she could on a spare shop rag.

“Give it to me.”

“I’ve got it,” Peli said, pulling the little one up by its three-fingered hands.

“I said give it to me!” He brandished the gun.

She handed it over with a reluctant sigh. So much for that. At least the baby was changed, and comfortable, and quiet. She needed the Mandalorian to keep his wits about him. She also needed a new plan. And if this idiot was so intent on ignoring her…

“At least send the droid back into the bay,” Peli goaded him.

“Shut up.” He ordered.

“I’m telling you,” she persisted, “if the Mandalorian sees it, he’ll be suspicious.”

“I said shut up!” he dug the gun into her back. Peli grimaced. She might have bruised ribs from the blaster tip, but the pit droid stayed where it was. If she knew her droids—and Peli knew her droids—it would scramble up and away at the first sight of danger. The only thing in her hangar more dangerous than this stupid son of a bitch with a blaster was that stupid son of a bitch with a blaster who’d already shot at it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian returns.
> 
> …Peli Motto is prepared.

There was a sound from outside, and their captor tensed.

Could be nothing. Could be anything. But Peli knew the nights in Mos Eisley. There was something moving outside, a dewback or a bantha, a heavy one. But there were no cries. No shouts of alarm. Not Tusken raiders, then.

Her hangar was sealed, the lights dimmed. No one would be coming for repairs at this time of night.

...The Mandalorian was back.


	14. Chapter 14

The Mandalorian entered the hangar, blaster drawn. Stayed to the perimeter. Behind cover.

…and, if on cue, the pit droid bolted from the ship’s hold back to the safety of the workshop.

_Good work, droids_, Peli thought as the Mandalorian stalked their way. She’d alerted him to their location, given him the only advantage she could.

It wasn’t much. The Razor Crest still armored them on three sides, not to mention above and below. The hold doors were a narrow choke point. As long as they stayed on the ship this bastard was protected.

“Took you long enough, Mando!” their captor called, prodding her forward into the hangar’s light. “Looks like I’m calling the shots now, huh, partner?”

The odds were stacked against him, certainly. But with beskar like that the Mandalorian was nearly invincible to blaster fire. And now this idiot was walking her and the little one down the gangway, right into the line of fire. So much for the high ground! All she needed was for the Mandalorian to stay calm, to keep his head—

He leveled the blaster. Aimed. And—

—and nothing.

He didn’t shoot through her. Peli let out a sigh of relief.

“Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.”

The Mandalorian didn’t shoot through her. No, it was much, much worse than that. A decent marksman would have made the shot, Peli Motto be damned. A good man—a good father—would do what the Mandalorian did, she supposed. Refused to risk the life of a captive or his child.

She closed her eyes as he cast away his weapon. Brought his hands up behind his head.

A good man, then. A good father. She shouldn’t regret, it, but good or not it made no difference. He’d get them both—and the child, most likely—killed.


	15. Chapter 15

“Cuff him.” He shoved her roughly forward.

She dragged herself down the gangway, ribs sore from the blaster tip and heart heavy in her chest. This bastard was going to kill the Mandalorian, and make the little one watch. Peli wanted no part in it.

She circled him. Kept her eyes down. Raised her arms to cuff him, and—Oh.

_Oh!_

A flash charge. That clever son of a bitch.


	16. Chapter 16

He’d flexed his fingers. Made certain she’d seen it.

“You’re smarter than you look.” Peli whispered.

The flare burned bright. She fled for cover.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian saves them all.
> 
> ...Peli Motto says good-bye.

Blinding light. Echoing shots. In seconds it was over.

The bastard’s body had barely hit the floor. Still twitching. She was up and out from behind the engine brick, searching for the little one.

“Stay back.” The Mandalorian ordered.

Not a chance. Not when the little one was still in danger. “You got to get it!” Peli cried. The mudrucker might be dead but there were still a thousand and one things in her hangar that could hurt or even kill it. “Where is it?”

Rustling. Peeping. It peaked out from behind the oil drums.

“There you are,” Peli knelt as it reached out for her. “Were you hiding from us, huh?” She asked, smiling, and picked it up. “Look at you. It’s alright,” she bounced it gently as it babbled. “I know, that was really loud for your big old ears, wasn’t it.” She stroked them. “It’s okay. Shh. Shh.”

The Mandalorian stood. Approached. Didn’t say a word.

“Be careful with him,” Peli said, although she knew now he would be.

“So,” Peli sighed. Sought the Mandalorian’s gaze through the helmet visor. “I take it you didn’t get paid.”

He opened a purse. She held her hands out, expecting nothing, or next to it. But credits poured down, imperial, peggats, aurei, zemids, all overflowing her hands. It was more money than she’d ever seen in her life.

“That cover me?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Peli cleared her throat. Nearly swallowed her tongue. “That’s gonna cover you.” The little one cooed at her one last time, then the Mandalorian turned away. Despite herself, that little bean and that bastard both had grown on her. She hadn’t thought of children, of loss, a life not led, not for many years. For a gruff old mechanic in Mos Eisley, perhaps to be reminded had been enough.

“All right, Pit Droids!” she called as the gangway raised. “Let’s drag this outta here!”

The three of them whirred at her.

“I don’t know, drag it to Beggars Canyon.” They weren’t a very creative lot, but they got the job done. And, she thought, oddly fondly, for a lonely mechanic in Mos Eisley, perhaps that was enough.

The engines roared. The Razor Crest rose.

She nodded to herself. Watched them go. She had a life here. A hangar. Three damned droids. She’d built something for herself out of the sun and sand. It wasn’t much, but it was home, and it was _hers_. With a little luck—and a lot of learning—Peli thought as the ship’s twin engines disappeared into the night sky, perhaps they’d do the same.


End file.
